Marry, Lie With, Kill
by uni0000
Summary: As Dorian and other Inquisition members enjoy drinks in an empty tavern, he suggests they play a game from his homeland: marry, lie with, kill. Thus ensues a rowdy night that begins as good fun, but ends with relationships changing, secrets revealed, and a certain companion's heart breaking. Heavy Cassandra x Varric and Dorian x Bull. Implied Blackwall x Josephine.
1. In Which Rules are Explained

**Chapter 1**

"What do you mean you've never played marry, lie with, kill?"

Dorian stared at the group, an incredulous expression on his face. His drinking companions—Cullen, Blackwall, Bull, Varric, Krem, and Sera—shared glances, their expressions mirroring each other's confusion. This was what he got for moving to Ferelden.

Sera let out an atrocious sound that might be construed as a giggle. "Why are we killin' Mary?"

"No, not Mary, _marry_…" Dorian paused and took a deep breath. "It's a game. We play it all the time in Tevinter."

"Count me out, then," Bull said. "I'd like to keep my blood in my body, thanks."

"It doesn't involve blood magic. What do you Quinari think we do—play in each other's blood for fun?"

Bull shrugged. "Pretty much, yeah." He winced, then chuckled, as Krem elbowed him for this remark.

Dorian sighed. "Even us savage 'Vints' recognize how dangerous blood magic can be. It is not a recreational activity."

Varric waved his hand as if brushing away the thought. "Yeah, yeah, your people take their demon-hugging very seriously, we get it. But you mentioned a game…"

"Marry, lie with, kill," Dorian repeated.

"…yeah, that. Sounds like it's got potential. Want to borrow my cards?"

"Those won't be necessary, thank you. The game involves no props. It's as simple as it sounds. I will start. I will choose someone at the table, and list to them three people that we all know. My chosen victim must decide which of these three they would marry, which they would kill, and which they would…well…lie with."

"Lie with?" Sera asked. "What, like sharin' a tent?"

Krem smirked. "Not exactly."

"It means…" Cullen began. "Er, well…it's like…"

"It's sex," Bull stated.

Realization lit Sera's eyes. "Ohhh, so like shagging then, right?" She giggled. "Well why didn't you just say that!"

"Good question," Varric agreed. "_Lie with_, Sparkler, really? What is this, the Chantry?"

Dorian narrowed his eyes. "It's the term we always used when we played back home. To keep up a façade of elegance, or, more likely, to ensure the slaves did not understand. You may each use whichever term you prefer."

"So that's it, then?" Bull asked. "You say who you would marry, screw, and kill, and then that's the end?"

"Not quite. There are a few more rules of which you should be aware. Once you've played your turn, you may choose anyone at the table to go next, and provide that person with three more names. Suggestions from other table members are always welcome, of course. We continue until we get bored or the drinks run out, whichever comes first."

"What if…er…" Cullen began. "Well, can they give you just any three people? Even if the person deciding isn't...attracted to…that type?"

Dorian smirked, a wicked sparkle in his eyes. "Any three may be chosen, Commander, regardless of personal preferences. And whoever's turn it is _must_ answer."

"Wait a minute," Blackwall said, "let me get this right. You choose between killing, bedding once, and bedding until you get tired of each other? Not much a choice in that."

Dorian's smirk widened into a grin. "Not quite, dear Warden. I forgot that relationships are practiced differently in Ferelden. The game is only fun, in my humble opinion, if you play with Tevinter social conventions. A marriage is for life—separation is social suicide—but regular intimacy is not necessary. Most married couples I know slept together only enough times as were necessary to produce a successor, and after that remained solely in their separate bedroom quarters."

"So you're stuck together forever, but you don't _have_ to bed each other?" Blackwall asked.

"Precisely."

Varric snorted. "Sounds like my parents."

"What about love?" Cullen asked.

"A nearly foreign concept in Tevinter, I assure you. Lust, though…now that is an expectation. Not only do affairs occur, but they happen passionately and often."

"Meaning…?" Blackwall asked.

"Meaning that in our game when it comes to the category of 'lie with,' I do not merely mean once. I mean regularly, once a week at least, for approximately a year. To simulate a true Tevinter affair, of course."

Blackwall grunted. "Of course. And killing's just killing?"

"Yes. You are all quite familiar, I'm sure, with how well-acquainted my brethren are with that practice."

"This sounds pretty good," Bull admitted. "We gonna start?"

Dorian held up a hand. "Patience. We'll begin only if everyone agrees."

His eyes scanned the table, curious to see his companions' reactions to the proposed activity. Bull had already made his opinion clear—he was excited, muscles clenching like when he fought a dragon. Sera, too, looked like she was about to jump out of her seat, and kept giggling to herself—at imagined trios, Dorian supposed. Varric was hard to read as always, calming sipping from his drink as he took in every detail of the scene, no doubt taking mental notes for when he turned this into a story later. Blackwall and Krem seemed contentedly resigned to the situation, neither enthused nor reluctant. And then there was Cullen.

He stood and attempted to leave the table, but was caught up in the closely-spaced chairs. "I…do not think I can stay longer. I believe I have…paperwork."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "We've all got paperwork, Curly. What's one more hour?"

"Come on, Commander," Bull urged. "It's the perfect opportunity to kick back. It's not like anyone's gonna overhear."

It was true. The tavern was empty, with all tables and chairs except their conglomerated arrangement wiped off and stacked. They'd started drinking late in the evening after returning from the Hinterlands. Dorian was certain there were more people that needed help in those damn woods than in the rest of Thedas combined. They'd been lucky that the barkeep had let them stay past closing, telling them only to clean up after themselves and turn off the lights. The perks of being one of the Inquisitor's companions, he supposed.

"No, really," Cullen stuttered, "I don't think I can…I'm much too…" He gave up on the excuses as his cheeks turned pink. "I'm not sure I want to play this game."

Dorian sighed. He had so been looking forward to the Commander's embarrassed choices. "Well, we'll certainly miss having you, Commander."

Sera shook her head enthusiastically. "Nuh-uh, no way you're leaving. You're gonna play with us, cause if you don't…" she leaned over the table towards Cullen, her voice dipping unexpectedly low, "…then your gooey hair stuff just might go missing. What is it Varric calls you, Curly? Only he don't know the half of it, do he?"

Cullen's eyes widened, and he immediately sank back into his chair. "On second thought, I believe I'll play."

Bull frowned. "Hey, don't worry about the kid. Don't play if you really don't want to."

Cullen opened his mouth, though better of it and glanced at Sera. She sat still and silent, a twistedly innocent smile on her face, her finger twirling a bit of hair around itself again and again. Cullen winced and looked back at Bull. "It's fine. I'm fine. Let's play."

Bull raised his brows, but said no more. Dorian was tired of all the talk. "It's settled, then. Now, who to pick…"


	2. In Which the Game Begins

**Chapter 2**

Dorian glanced among his companions. Iron Bull and Sera were nearly throwing themselves at him they were so excited, while Cullen had made himself smaller than Dorian had thought possible. It seemed best to start with an enthusiastic participant; show the others just how fun and relaxed the game could be.

"Sera," he said, his eyes locking on the elf.

She squealed with delight. Iron Bull clenched his fist tighter on his mug. "Careful there, Bull," Dorian warned. "It would be good if you could wait your turn without breaking the tableware."

Bull just snorted, and Dorian found himself smiling at the Quinari's frustration. It was nice to rile him up for once, rather than always having it the other way around. The man looked particularly cute when he was frustrated…not that he was cute otherwise. Doiran forced his attention to Sera and considered different potential groups of three. Start positive and simple. Let them get the hang of it.

"Our Inquisitor, our Ambassador, and our Spymaster."

Murmurs and laughter spread around the table as Sera's eyes widened. "Oh! This'll be easy, yeah? Marry Josie, shag Leliana, kill…wait, no. I don't like this. Can I just shag all three of them?"

Dorian and the others laughed. "I'm afraid not, my dear. Rules are rules."

"Right. Bugger." Sera put her elbows on the table and lay her head in her hands in an unnecessarily exaggerated thinking pose. He intensely creased forehead, however, gave away her sincerity. "Right well I've always figured Leliana is a good shag, but she's kinda creepy, right? So I don't think I'd want to be stuck with her. Josie's a good'un, but she's so flippin' _serious_ all the time. Lavellan, I mean, elves aren't my thing—too tiny and all that—but you said we didn't have to do it a whole bunch if we married 'em, yeah? And she's down with a good prank and all that, so…marry her, shag Leliana, and kill Josie. Sorry, Josie."

The reactions of the group were generally ones of laughter and approval. Only Blackwall seemed unimpressed, his arms crossed as he let out a disgusted, "Hmm." This response, though not loud, contrasted enough with the other commentary to attract attention.

Sera shot him a glare. "What's up your arse?"

"I just think you'd have to be insane to choose Lady Josephine to kill."

"Oh really? Look, I like Josie, but this ain't as easy as it looks. You wanna give it a try?"

Blackwall shrugged.

"Alright," Sera started, taking his noncommittal response as a challenge. "Your turn then, Mr. Grumpypants. Josie, Vivienne, and Cassandra."

The group reacted appropriately amused and surprised. Blackwall didn't flinch.

"Marry Josephine."

Dorian chuckled. "My, that was fast." He wasn't the only one at the table raising an eyebrow. There had been talk of a mysterious admirer leaving flowers on Josephine's desk, and it seems they may have discovered the perpetrator.

"She's the perfect woman," Blackwall explained. "Beautiful, intelligent, kind, and graceful."

Varric smirked. "Someone's thought a lot about this."

Blackwall ignored the comment, though his cheeks possibly reddened slightly; it was hard to tell under all that hair.

"Vivienne and Cassandra…" Blackwall mused. "Alright, Sera, I'll admit. This isn't easy."

Sera smiled. "I know, right? They're both so scary."

This comment sparked chuckles around the table. Though Varric laughed along with the others, Dorian noticed that his eyes remained strangely serious. Unusual for the good-natured dwarf. Dorian suspected he knew why.

"Bed Cassandra, kill Vivienne," Blackwall finally said. "I don't know what sort of fade stuff mages get up to in the bedroom, and I have no intention of finding out."

Dorian laughed the loudest at this. It wasn't the first time he had heard such comments. "I'd be happy to show you, Blackwall. There's nothing to fear. Just spells, demons, spirits, fire…the usual."

Blackwall's eyes widened for half a second before crinkling with mirth as he caught on to the joke. "Oh yes, fire in bed. Sounds safe."

"Everyone wants you to think that Kirkwall's chantry was blown up by a….misguided mage," Varric said, a hint of sadness in his voice despite the joke. "But really, these two mages just got a little too enthusiastic…"

Varric elaborated on the story, setting off the group again. By the end Iron Bull was banging his fist on the table, and Dorian found he had tears in his eyes. When they finally settled down, Blackwall was already scanning his eyes over the crowd.

"Krem," he finally decided. "You're attracted to women, right? Or…well, I don't want to assume anything…I'm not really sure how it all works. Sorry."

Krem gave him a friendly smile. "No need to apologize. I know how it works for me, but I've never met anyone else like me, so maybe it's different for others. All I know is that—"

"—He's into the V, not the D," Bull interrupted loudly.

Krem grimaced. "Thanks for that, Boss."

The moment could have been awkward, but Blackwall moved on with a surprising amount of tact. "Right, so just like me, then. In that case…"

As Blackwall considered possible trios, Dorian felt his respect for the man grow a little. He'd done unspeakable things in his past, and as soon as the Inquisition was over he'd be devoting his life to a losing cause, but he was surprisingly accepting of new things. When Dorian had finally shared his sexuality with him and the rest of the Inquisition, Blackwall had merely thanked him for his trust. Just like many others of his generation, he was often confused by more "modern" (despite them, in reality, having been around for centuries) identities such as men who preferred the company of men or women who were born with male anatomy, etc. But unlike the judgment his peers, such as Mother Giselle, put on the things they did not understand, Blackwall simply asked questions and then whole-heartedly accepted the new information. He had such a checkered (stained, really) past himself that it made sense he accepted others' differences so readily.

"Scout Harding, Arcanist Dagna, and…" Blackwall glanced around to assure himself that the tavern was empty. "…that bard…what's her name? Mary?"

"Maryden," Sera corrected. "She's a right good bird, she is. Her song 'bout me's the best."

"Yeah, Maryden," Blackwall continued. "Harding, Dagna, and Maryden."

"An interesting group," Bull said, his eyes twinkling. "I wonder what all three would be like at once…"

Blackwall cleared his throat. "I…uh…doubt they'd be up for that."

"I was joking," Bull said with a frown. "Just because I actually sleep with people instead of hiding behind presents and letters, doesn't mean I don't respect them."

Blackwall lowered his head, though Dorian couldn't tell whether it was out of embarrassment from Bull's mention of his crush, or from shame of his quick judgment. Perhaps both. After a moment, he raised his eyes again to meet Bull's. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have presumed."

Bull's face instantly softened. "It's alright. I shouldn't judge your…methods either. How about you compliment the ladies next time you see them, and I give Jo…I mean, whichever mysterious woman you're pining for, some inside tips on Quinari politics?"

Blackwall smiled and nodded, and this time Dorian was sure he was blushing.

"So uh…I'm still up, right?" Krem asked.

Attention immediately moved back to Krem and his decision as everyone assured him it was still his turn. Krem leaned back in his chair, smiling as he considered his choices. "Two dwarven redheads and a singer, huh?"

Blackwall shrugged. "I was just trying to throw out some new names."

"No, it's fine. They're all good options…you're right that this is tough. I know Lace the best, having been with her out in the field. She's nice, cute, an impressive scout…but Maryden's voice…" Krem whistled, words evidently not enough to express his opinion. "Wouldn't mind falling asleep to the sound of that every night."

The group nodded and murmured in approval. Krem thought for another moment, and then shook his head. "That voice is nice, but Harding's about everything you could ask for in a woman. Marry her, sleep with Maryden, and kill Danga."

The crowd reacted as usual, though this time Varric let out some disappointed clicks of his tongue. "Kill the dwarf…what a surprise."

Krem sat up straight, "Hey, I said I'd marry Lace! The problem's magic, not dwarves. Growing up in Tevinter…magic's not really my favorite thing, and that's Dagna's passion, right? She's cute, but I don't think we'd have much to talk about."

Varric laughed. "You don't have to justify your answer to me, kid. I'm just teasing. Besides, as far as I can tell, Dagna's basically knowledge-sexual. Never seen her take any romantic interest in anybody, but when she's studying magical artifacts, I always feel like I need to give her and the glowing thing a minute alone."

"Exactly!" Dorian exclaimed. "That's been my impression, too! She's the first woman I've ever met who gazed at enchanted armor with the adoration she should be giving me."

Bull grinned. "You know, if she's into studying stuff that's rare and unusual…maybe Krem's her perfect match. She could _study_ you all night."

Krem groaned and playfully threw a napkin at Bull. It missed, instead hitting Varric straight in the face.

"Oh, now you're attacking dwarves, too? When will the racism end?"

They all laughed, all except Dorian. He was distracted, already knowing exactly who Krem would choose to go next and smiling at the thought. They had played it safe so far, but that wasn't the point of the game. He had a strong feeling things were about to get…_interesting_.


	3. In Which Bull Surprises Dorian

**Chapter 3**

"Bull," said Krem, "your turn."

"Yeah?"

"Sera, the Commander, and Dorian."

Bull's laugh bellowed throughout the tavern. "As usual, Krem, you don't disappoint. Forcing me to choose among people that are here, hmm?"

Krem glanced at Dorian. "That's allowed, right?"

Dorian smiled. "Oh, it's encouraged."

Bull examined his three choices, his face full of amusement at the sight of their reactions. Sera's nose was squished up in disgust, presumably as she imagined what "riding the Bull," as the Quinari so subtlety put it, would be like. Cullen's entire face had turned a bright pink and he was suddenly very thirsty, making quick work on his drink. Dorian…well, he merely rolled his eyes at the Quinari. They had slept together before, as Krem surely knew, but their relationship was solely physical. There was no need for The Iron Bull to know that a certain kind, sympathetic smile he reserved for rare moments, the one he had given Dorian after the mess that had been his unexpected family reunion, caused the mage's stomach to clench. He had merely been surprised at being treated with kindness, surely. He hadn't gotten much of that in Tevinter. Nevermind the bizarre anger he felt when he saw Bull head back to his room with one of the tavern girls, or the way he had come to enjoy their sleepy mornings together as much as, if not more than, their nights. Even though Bull had proven himself to be more than a typical mindless savage Quinari, even though he had put his loyalty to his men above his loyalty to his country and people, he was still lewd, base, rowdy, and terrifyingly intelligent. Not Dorian's type at all.

"I don't like this," Bull announced.

"But you wanted to go so badly, Boss," Krem taunted. "It's not as fun when it's you choosing, is it?"

"No, it's not that. It's just that you know me, you know I don't make people do anything they don't want to. And I'm pretty sure I'm one thing both Cullen and Sera don't want to do."

There was laughter in response to this, the most coming from Sera and Cullen, who both seem relieved, in their own ways, to have had the obvious problem acknowledged.

Krem frowned. "Oh, sorry. This is all made-up, so I didn't really think about that."

"I never clarified," Dorian said. "My mistake. For the purposes of the game, we may assume that anyone named consents to whatever role is chosen for them, even if they do not particularly enjoy it. Their personality and feelings towards you remain the same, but sexually they're more…open to possibilities."

Bull nodded, satisfied. "Okay, in that case marry Dorian, screw Sera, and kill Cullen." He smiled sheepishly at the Commander. "Sorry."

Cullen looked incredibly relieved. "Oh no, that's quite alright."

"Why not kill me?" Sera demanded.

Bull smirked at her. "Because I think you'd be more fun in bed."

Sera surprised them all by freezing, completely shocked by this response. Her cheeks filled with red, which Dorian hadn't even thought possible, and she immediately burst into her characteristic grating yet enthusiastic laughter. Most of the others joined her.

"Sorry again, Cullen."

"No, no, it's fine. You're probably right; it doesn't take much to be more adventurous than me in that domain."

More laughter ensued, as well as some curious questions aimed at figuring out if Cullen really was the more vanilla of the two. Sera proudly announced that her most adventurous sexual act had involved an arrow and a public setting. Though Cullen wouldn't divulge details about his own intimate life, he gladly shared that it had never gotten _that_ weird.

Dorian smiled at this teasing and laughter, but his attention was on Bull. Marry? Really? He had never expected to be chosen for that option. Cullen was gorgeous—it didn't take a man of his preferences to see that—and if Bull had chosen the pretty commander, he could have looked on that face and body every day. Sera and Bull had similar senses of humor, and they truly seemed to enjoy each other's company. Why in the Maker's name would he choose Dorian?

He froze as Bull caught him staring. The man smiled and titled his head, as if asking what was wrong. Dorian swallowed and tried to smile back, but it came out as more of a grimace. What was he doing getting anxious over a silly drinking game?

"Cullen," Bull started, shifting his glance. The commander winced at the sound of his name. "I hypothetically murdered you and all, so I'll pass the choice over to you. Marry, screw, kill: Empress Celene, Hawke, and Morrigan.

Varric nearly spit out his drink, and as soon as he had managed to swallow he began laughing harder than Dorian had ever seen. "Have fun with those three, Commander! Good luck getting out alive."

Dorian smirked; Varric was so proud now, but wait until it was his turn. Cullen shot Varric a glare before his expression tightened into one of fear as he considered his options.

"It's just a game," Dorian reminded him. "There's no wrong choice."

Cullen nodded, but his nervous features indicated he still wasn't convinced. He stared off at a wall for a few minutes as the rest of the group waited.

Sera was, of course, the first one to grow impatient. "C'mon, Culley-Wulley. Just choose already."

Cullen's attention turned back to the table. Dorian sensed he was no closer to deciding than he had been when he started his reverie. "I'm not sure…there are many elements to consider."

"It's not a war strategy, it's a game," Bull said. "What are you worried about? A bad imaginary marriage?"

"If I remember correctly, the last time I made a poor choice in a game, I lost my very real clothing."

Bull grinned and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Don't think I'll ever forget it."

Cullen blushed again, but tried to remain focused on the task at hand. "What would you do?" he asked. "All of you, I mean."

The drinking companions glanced among themselves. They had all already ranked the women for themselves, of course, as naturally occurred in this game.

"Easy," Varric said. "Marry Hawke, sleep with Celene, kill Morrigan. Hawke's intimidating when you first meet her, sure, but she's a good person under all that bite. Celene's attractive enough, if cold and calculating. Morrigan…trust me. You do not want to go there."

"I disagree," Bull replied. "Morrigan puts on a tough, scary act, but it's just to hide a lot of insecurity. She's a good mother, and she just wants to keep to herself. Hawke, on the other hand, is a loose canon. Plus we all know she has a bad history with the Templars, whether or not you add an 'ex' to the title. Celene's only out for herself, and she's a master at all that Orelsian game crap. Unless you're really good at reading people, which, no offense, Cullen, you're not, she's definitely the most dangerous. Marry Morrigan, screw Hawke, kill Celene."

Sera provided her input, killing Celene automatically due to her royal title, and preferring Morrigan over Hawke mostly for her wardrobe choices. Krem claimed he had barely interacted with Hawke and Morrigan and had never even seen Celene, and so didn't know enough to decide. Blackwall merely grunted.

"Alright," Cullen finally said. "I have it. Marry Hawke, lie with Morrigan, and kill Celene. You can guess the explanations for yourselves."

He received only nods and shrugs from the table. Everyone agreed that, for Cullen in particular, none of the options were ideal.

"So I guess…it's Varric by default now, right?" Cullen asked.

"Not necessarily," Dorian said. "I was able to choose a new player, but not to decide on my own trio, and so I still need a turn. You may choose either Varric or I, but I would prefer you choose me. I have something already in mind for Varric."

Varric merely raised his eyebrows with interest as the others let out "ooh"s. Dorian smiled innocently. The dwarf could laugh at Cullen all he wanted, but wait until he was forced into his own difficult decision.


	4. In Which Dorian Suspects Many Things

**Chapter 4**

Dorian had noticed both a growing mutual respect and a possibly budding friendship between Varric and a certain Seeker. Not to mention their sexual tension, which was so thick you could cut it with a knife. If he had to see Cassandra glance one more time at Varric's chest hair when she thought no one was looking, or watch Varric's face fill with awe as he watched Cassandra fight, he was sure he was going to be sick.

He had tried asking them about it, once, thinking that perhaps something had been going on between the two since long before he'd joined the Inquisition, and they just weren't very public about it. After all, they bickered as if they'd been together for years.

As he and Varric walked side-by-side, far behind the Inquisitor and the Seeker, he brought it up as casually as he could. "Varric, are you and Cassandra…?"

Varric immediately stopped walking and whipped his head towards Dorian. "What?" His voice cracked. "No. Why would you even ask that?"

His answer confirmed two things: one, the two were not in a relationship, and two, Varric, at least, had very much thought about it.

"Truly?" Dorian replied, hoping to further the conversation. "Bizarre."

"I'm right here," Cassandra snapped. She and the Inquisitor had turned to face the men. The women must have the ears of bats, to have been able to hear the distant conversation.

Dorian tried to embrace the unexpected turn in events. "See, she's right there. What are you waiting for?"

Cassandra scoffed, though he thought he caught her eyes darting to Varric with concern, if only for a split second. Varric refused to look at her, keeping his attention on Dorian instead.

"Just because two people dislike each other doesn't mean they're about to kiss, Sparkler."

"Not according to your books…"

"Don't mistake me for that hack that wrote Hard in Hightown 2. I can spell."

Of course Varric had deflected with humor, as always. He used the mention of the sequel to launch into a rant about why it was so atrocious compared to his own literature, though he had already given his traveling companions this exact speech before. It did what he'd intended, no doubt; by the time Varric was done speaking, conversation had long moved away from any mention of him and Cassandra. Still, for the rest of that day, Dorian had noticed them shooting even more glances at each other than usual, and that night they had sat on opposite sides of the camp, forgoing their typical Wicked Grace lesson.

"Well in that case," Cullen said, bringing Dorian back to the present, "Dorian, why don't you go next?"

"With pleasure."

"Let's see…er…you…like…I mean you prefer…"

"I am attracted to only men, yes, Commander." He had to save the poor man from himself.

Cullen cleared his throat. "Right. Well…"

Dorian smiled as he waited for Cullen to choose his options. The Commander was not the sort to challenge anyone with hidden agendas or tests, particularly not in this category, so he wasn't concerned.

After a minute of thinking, Cullen threw up his hands. "Maker's breath, I don't know! Blackwall, Varric, and Bull."

Cullen had picked the three men closest to him. The drinkers laughed as they realized this. Blackwall shrugged, Varric hid behind his amused mask, and Bull…

Dorian found himself swallowing on a dry throat. Bull was staring right at him, with that damn sweet smile on his face. The smile that Dorian's stomach was, as far as he could tell, allergic to, because it immediately started its usual reaction of twisting in knots. Bull's expression changed to one of concern, and Dorian knew immediately that the Quinari had seen the fear in his face. His pulse quickened, but he kept his gaze on the man. He would not look away bashfully like some silly schoolboy.

"My, what lovely choices," Dorian drawled, his eyes still on Bull. "It's a shame I can't just keep all three of you as my bedfellows."

Varric snorted, and Bull's typical cheeky grin appeared. Dorian decided it was now safe to look away, even though Bull's eye still held a hint of curiosity.

"If you really can't decide, I'll happily volunteer to face the Maker," Blackwall offered.

Dorian gasped in mock-horror. "Blackwall, I'm hurt! You'd really rather die than lay with me?"

"Oh, no, I'd bed you. Not really my thing, but couldn't do any harm. No, the part I couldn't handle would be the clothes you'd force me to wear. All those bright, impractical Tevinter dresses."

The table erupted into laughter, and Dorian was no exception. He held up his tankard to Blackwall. "But of course. Any lover of mine can't be seen wearing anything but the best. I don't know if I can let you off the hook so easily, though. I've always been a sucker for the dark and brooding types."

Blackwall's smile faded slightly, and Dorian immediately realized he must be thinking about the past actions that had made him so dark and brooding. It was so easy to forget, when they were drinking like this, just as they had when they'd first met, how much had changed when the truth of Rainier's identity had come out. What he had done was atrocious and unforgiveable, of course, and Dorian had had to walk away from the gallows in in order to keep himself from killing the man with a fireball right then and there. But Blackwall had been young, a different person, and he hadn't known the wife or children would be there. Greed was a powerful temptress; in Tevinter, her power was unstoppable. As for Blackwall letting his men take the fall…Dorian knew well what it was like to let others suffer for your actions. He thought of his parents, of how as soon as news spread of his involvement in the Inquisition, they would be in danger.

He forced a smile at Blackwall, deciding to let the troubled man out of the spotlight. "You're right, though. You would look terrible in silk. Kill you I must."

Though some at the table whined their disappointment, Blackwall's grateful smile let Dorian know his choice had not gone unappreciated. "So," he said, turning to Varric and Bull, "which one of you imbeciles could I put up with for a lifetime?"

Varric raised his eyebrows. "Oh, so the question's not which of us you'd be willing to sleep with?"

Bull chuckled. "Pretty sure he's already answered that question for one of us…" He eyed the mage with a wicked smile that made the corners of Dorian's mouth twitch. It was the same smile Bull gave when they were in the middle of…activities.

He forced the pulse-quickening thought from his mind and sighed. "Yes, yes, we've already slept together. It's all very exciting and scandalous, I'm sure."

"_What_?" Sera demanded. "You've _what_?"

"Er…I'm sorry. I thought everyone knew. Bull hasn't been exactly…quiet about it."

Bull smirked. "You're the loud one."

"But 'ow do you…" Sera started, holding up a finger on each hand and touching them together. Her face morphed into one of disgust and she dropped her hands. "Nope, nope, nevermind. I don't wanna know."

Most of the table laughed. Dorian scanned the faces, just to be sure that he hadn't shocked anyone else with this weeks-old news. With the way Bull shouted about his conquests and the speed of the rumor mill around Skyhold, he had just assumed their liaisons were common knowledge. It had started with a very drunken and sloppy night, but that had been good enough—damn Bull's bizarrely gentle fingers—that he'd come back for more. Sober, it was…well, much more than good.

His eyes hit upon a pink and frozen face: Cullen's. Of course.

"I take it you didn't know either, Commander?" he asked.

The sound of his title brought Cullen out of his initial shock. "What? Oh, no, I…hadn't heard," a sudden rush of red appeared on his cheeks. "About it, I mean. I hadn't heard _about_ it. It's uh…I'm happy that the Inquisition has allowed two people from warring nations, ones who would likely never otherwise have met, to start a relationship." With this last sentence, his embarrassment disappeared, and his words came out quite sincere. He smiled at Dorian, a sweet, genuine smile of approval.

Dorian hesitated to correct the Commander on his incorrect assumption. He seemed so happy with the idea that the Inquisition had been the cause of love, rather than only war. And the Commander was technically right. It was a relationship of sorts.

He glanced at Bull, and his breath hitched as he locked eyes with the Quinari. Bull had already been staring at him, his expression unreadable. Dorian knew his own face must be betraying his feelings of fear, confusion, and, worst of all, hope. He hated to admit that he felt it, but he did, deep in his chest. The stupid, absurd hope that perhaps Bull thought of him as more than just a bedfellow. Why would he hope for that, when his logical mind, the part of his brain that spoke rationally and clearly and that he tried his best to always listen to, was so sure he was not interested in the Quinari? Not like _that_, anyway. And yet other parts of him—his feelings, his instincts, the thoughts he had when he wasn't paying attention—seemed quite convinced that he cared for more than just Bull's body. Minutes passed, but it was still totally unclear what Bull was feeling or thinking. Damn that Ben Hassrath training.

"Not to uh…interrupt whatever the hell this moment is, but can we maybe try to finish the game? I've got some chapters in my head I want to get down on paper before the sun's up."

Bull finally broke their shared gaze, turning to Varric with a grin. "Sorry, was just checking out that mustache. Only guy I've ever met who actually looks good with one."

"I know, right?" Sera blurted out. "They're always creepy, but then _his_…!"

Dorian smirked. "I don't do creepy."

"So what'll it be, Sparkler? You willing to be my muse?"

"I think I will have to keep our relationship merely sexual, Varric. I'll marry The Iron Bull. I can't resist the shock it would give my parents."

Varric chuckled in approval, and the rest of the group seemed unperturbed by his decision. Only Bull's expression betrayed surprise. Dorian shrugged slightly in response, trying to maintain the casualness of his invented reason for the decision. His burning cheeks, however, gave away the truth, and Bull responded with that ridiculous kind smile. There was a familiar tightening in his body, and he forced himself to look away from those crinkled dark eyes. He tried to focus on Varric instead, who only a few minutes ago he'd been so excited about tormenting. Now he just wanted the game to end. The sooner it did, the sooner he and Bull could be alone and he could figure out what the hell was going on.


	5. In Which Dwarves and Seekers are Idiots

**Chapter 5**

"Varric," Dorian said, tasting the name like it was a threat. Time to make someone else as uncomfortable as he felt. "Hawke, Bianca, and Cassandra."

The table reacted with groans. Only Dorian noticed Varric's eyes widening slightly.

"I thought you said you had a good one!" Bull exclaimed.

"Yeah, that was a right waste of a turn, Witchy. We all know what he's gonna pick."

Dorian smiled. "Oh, do you now?"

"Marry Bianca, lie with Hawke, kill Cassandra," Blackwall listed. "You gave him the love of his life, his very attractive best friend, and the woman he hates."

"He could choose to marry Hawke," Cullen suggested. "He may not be able to think of her as anything other than a friend."

Blackwall shrugged. "True, but it's still easy then. Marry the woman you love spending time with, bed the one you're in love with, and kill the one you want to kill."

"I don't want to kill her."

All eyes turned to Varric. He was staring at his drink, the lines on his face more prominent than ever. His voice was grave.

"I didn't mean…" Blackwall started, "I wasn't trying to say you'd ever kill one of our companions. I just meant that if circumstances were different, if you hadn't ended up working together for the Inquisition, you'd probably want her dead, after what she did to you."

Varric shrugged. "She asked me questions. It wasn't that bad. I tend to exaggerate."

His eyes were still on his tankard, and his voice was grim. Blackwall shot a panicked glance to the others.

"Okay, well…so you don't want to kill her, then. But if you had to choose between her, Hawke, and Bianca, I just figured…"

Varric finally looked up, his eyes locking straight onto Dorian's. The gaze was a glare, and yet with a hint of questioning in it. Dorian simply smiled.

He thought of the night before, when through the window in his tower room he had spotted the dwarf and the Seeker walking the battlements together. They were talking loudly and enthusiastically, as if in an argument, but there was no anger in their voices. It didn't take him long to figure out that they were up to their usual flirtatious bickering. Of course. As they neared his room, he grinned in delight at the realization that he could hear what they were saying.

"I wrote you a damn book, what more do you want from me?"

"You did, and I am very grateful for that, but I want another."

Varric threw his hands into the air. "Oh, of course. I'll just pop another one out tonight. It's not like it takes any time or effort to write a freaking novel."

"I would not need another if you had given the Guard Captain a happy ending! I would have been satisfied! But instead, you go putting her into danger again, leaving her story on yet another cliffhanger…"

Varric stopped walking and crossed his arms. "I don't tell you how to fight; you don't tell me how to write."

Cassandra paused as well, turning to face him. "I am not telling you _how_ to write. Simply _what_—"

"Oh, you're just telling me what the content of my stories should be. That's so much better!"

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "Sarcasm does not become you, Varric."

Varric met her glare. "There are few things I'm good at, Seeker, but I do know I'm damn good at that few. Writing, archery, and humor. I might be worthless otherwise, but at least I've got those three talents.

"And helping others."

Varric's smirk immediately disappeared. It wasn't just Cassandra's words that had shocked him, Dorian knew. It was the tone of her voice: gentle, kind. She usually reserved that voice only for comforting the sick, wounded, and troubled. Dorian had never heard her give anyone a compliment so unexpectedly.

Varric quickly recovered, waving his hand as if pushing away the thought. "Nope, not on the list. Writing, archery, and humor. You could make an argument for cards and drinking being added, but I don't think—"

"Varric," Cassandra said, that same tone in her voice. His confident façade broke again, and he immediately fell silent. Cassandra sat on the low stone wall, and gestured for Varric to join her. He did, though Dorian noticed he placed himself far enough away to be sure that not even their clothing was touching.

Cassandra kept her eyes fixed on the dark view. "I know this is an odd change of topic, but I feel now Is a good time. I rarely hear you speak of yourself. Not truly. You tell of events you were involved in, but you always make yourself a side, unimportant character. I have realized it is the lie you tell most often."

Varric opened his mouth to respond, but Cassandra turned to look at him, and he fell silent. "It is not a lie I am angry about, do not worry. It is…a good lie, in some ways. I know why you tell it, or at least I think I do. You always want to give the credit to others, to people you think deserve it. You do not believe that you deserve it. You insist you are not a hero."

"I'm not."

Cassandra smiled. "Bullshit."

Varric couldn't help but smile at the reference to their first meeting, but his eyes were sad. "Seek—Cassandra, look, I might underemphasize my role in the stories a bit, but my actions were never really that important. I helped out, sure, but that's just because I fell into situations where any idiot would have done the same thing. I'm never the leader, I don't devote my life to any causes, I don't have any fancy titles…I'm just a merchant who does some questionably legal things and is handy with a crossbow."

"That is what I thought at first," Cassandra admitted, and then with a smirk added, "Though I would likely say you activities were quite clearly illegal."

Varric laughed.

But you are much, much more than that, Varric. You are kind, compassionate, intelligent, a fiercely loyal friend, a talented rogue, and very much a hero. I am sorry it took me so long to realize this. You help. That is your cause. You work constantly to better the world, to help others in any way you can. Deny this all you want, but I know it to be true, and I have evidence. You joined the Inquisition."

Varric sat in silence for a moment, stunned. He looked down at his hands in his lap. "The world was going to end. I live in the world. There was definitely some self-interest motivating my decision."

"Some, yes. But 'any idiot,' as you put it, would not risk his life helping a woman he hates when he could just leave her to deal with the rift on her own."

She had her hands placed on either side of her, splayed flat against the top of the wall, and Varric now reached out and placed one of his large hands on top of hers. She flinched, but did not move her hand away. Varric looked up at her. "I don't hate you."

Cassandra smirked. "Given that I often place my life in your hands when in battle, this is good to know."

Varric returned her smile. "So, uh, Seeker, not that I'm not loving the flattering comments or anything, but can I ask what brought this on?"

Cassandra shrugged. "I have been meaning to tell you for some time. Every time you insult yourself—which is often—I have wanted to tell you why you are wrong. I thought, however, that such an explanation is something only you should hear, and we are never alone."

These final words seemed to remind the two that they were, in fact, alone, on the battlements, touching hands, under a full moon. They stared at each other for a few seconds, both of their faces full of confusion and fear—rare emotions for either to express.

Dorian hoped this would be it. All they had to do was lean in, and he could finally breath a sigh of relief. But of course, this was too much to ask, and instead Varric stood up, clearing his throat.

"So what I'm hearing is that you complimented me just so you could prove I was wrong."

"No, I…" Cassandra paused, thinking it over. "Yes, in fact. It seems so."

She was surprised at this realization, and they both laughed.

"Well, you made some good points, Seeker. Can't say I completely agree with you, but I'll think over what you said. This wouldn't be the first time I was proven wrong."

Cassandra frowned. "Stop insulting yourself."

"But it's true! I've been wrong before! A lot, actually."

She glared at him.

"Okay, okay. I'll try not say that kind of stuff so much. But only if you promise to do something in return."

Her eyebrow cocked. "And what is that?"

"Stop blaming yourself for every damn tragedy that happens in Thedas."

"I do not—"

"Ohhh yes you do." He crossed his arms and put all his weight on one hip, imitating a pose Cassandra often took. When he next spoke, his voice was higher-pitched than usual, and attempting a sad excuse for a Navarran accent. "I should have told Varric why I wanted Hawke, even though he wouldn't have believed me and Hawke would not have come. I should have controlled the weather so we could have gotten to the Conclave faster. I should have devoted more time and energy to finding the Seekers, even though the only reason I didn't was because I was busy saving the world. I should have known the best-kept secrets of the Seekers, even though I had literally no way of finding them out." He returned to his usual stance and voice. "Should I continue?"

Cassandra glared at him, but there was no bite to it. "No."

"None of that crap is your fault. I don't think anyone is all good or all bad, but I do think some people lean strongly one way or the other. Corypheus is the cause of all of this, and he's about as bad as it gets. You're just trying to fix it all. You're a good person."

Her expression softened. "Thank you. I promise to try to stop blaming myself."

In their current position, Varric standing and Cassandra still sitting on the wall, he was the slightest bit taller than her. They looked at each other, smiling, and there it was again, another moment.

"Do it _now_," Dorian hissed. "_Kiss._ This is not…that…hard."

But of course, Varric never knew when to stop talking, and Dorian sighed in frustration as Varric's face broke into a grin.

"Now, you're not all good. There is certainly still some bad there. Your temper, for instance."

"Yes, I know."

"And your impatience."

"Varric…"

"And your poker face…or, uh, lack there of."

"I am aware I have—"

"And your violent treatment of perfectly innocent books…"

"Varric! I do not need you to…" She paused as realization passed over her face. "The book."

"What?"

Cassandra stood, grinning. "The one you are going to write for me."

Varric groaned, suddenly seeing the hole he had dug himself into. "Maker's breath…I already wrote you one."

"And the ending was unsatisfactory, so you are going to write another."

"Oh, am I?"

"Yes."

"You know, maybe you're right. The last one did end on a cliffhanger. I should at least kill off the Guard Captain, really make it clear the series is over."

Cassandra's face fell. "No! You can't!"

Varric smirked. "Oh, but you were so right, Seeker. The series is begging for an ending. I'm thinking we go total tragedy, kill off her lover and make her watch."

Cassandra knew he was toying with her. It was evident in the way her mouth twitched, wanting to smile, as she replied, "If you kill those characters, I will give Sera a key to your rooms."

Varric rolled his eyes. "You don't have—"

"The Inquisition has a copy of every key in Skyhold, and I know where they are stored. They're meant for emergencies only, but I do not believe the Inquisitor will mind if I make an exception. It will amuse me to see the different types of snowflakes Sera cuts out of your papers."

"You know, on further consideration, I don't think a tragic ending is the way to go. I think I'll go full happily ever after, with a wedding and kids and all that crap."

Cassandra giggled. _Giggled_. "A much better choice."

Varric shook his head, smiling. "In that case, I better get started. Wouldn't want to keep you waiting."

Cassandra smiled and held out a hand to him. "Goodnight, Varric."

Varric took her hand and returned the smile. They looked at each other, their hands clasped, for far longer than necessary. It was hard to tell in only the moonlight, but Dorian could have sworn he saw Varric's thumb gently stroke Cassandra's hand. Finally he spoke. "Night, Seeker."

They let go, then, and Varric turned on his heel and headed off to his quarters. Dorian saw what Cassandra could not—Varric smiling down at the hand that had held Cassandra's.

As Varric entered the tower and started down the stairs, Cassandra stared after him, opening and closing her own touched hand. Her expression was hard to read, but it seemed to be some kind of combination of surprised, pleased, and hopeful. Then all at once it changed, morphing into annoyance as Cassandra shook her head. "Don't be stupid," she murmured to herself.

She turned and left opposite the way Varric had gone, presumably back to her own quarters. Dorian had gone to sleep soon after, cursing idiot dwarves and oblivious seekers.


	6. In Which Things Turn Ugly

**Chapter 6**

That moonlight conversation between Varric and Cassandra had occurred just last night. Dorian had hoped that bringing Cassandra into the game, forcing Varric to consider her as an option, could inspire him to finally admit the truth. And it seemed like it might be working, the confusion and mixed feelings clear on the dwarf's face.

The suddenly, in the blink of an eye, all the strife was gone. Varric was back to his typical amused self, though his grin seemed faker than usual. "Man, I'm a little worried about the Inquisition. I thought you guys were intelligent warriors, but it turns out you're actually the most gullible people in all of Thedas. First you fall for the dwarf racism thing, and now this?"

As the others came to believe Varric's earlier grimness had been only an act, Dorian sighed. If Varric wanted to be a stubborn idiot, so be it. Dorian wasn't sure why he was disappointed, or why he had tried encouraging this relationship in the first place. Though he liked them both well enough, neither Cassandra nor Varric were by any means his closest friends in the Inquisition. Their sexual tension, while annoying, did not directly affect him in any way. He supposed it was an entertaining distraction, watching other people dance around each other for once.

Blackwall laughed. "You had me for a minute there!"

"Oh I know I did." Varric held up his tankard to Blackwall. He tilted his head back and finished off the rest of his beer. It was more liquor than Dorian had ever seen the dwarf consume in such a short amount of time. When he was done, Varric set his tankard down and held up a hand of warning to the group. "I have to admit, I really don't _want_ to kill the Seeker. I try to avoid that kind of thing outside of battles, and it's not like she's evil. But yeah, if it were between her, Hawke, and Bianca? Marry Bianca, sleep with Hawke, kill the Seeker."

"Big surprise," Sera grumbled.

"Look, that was too easy," Bull said. "I've got something better in mind. Willing to give it a shot?"

Varric shrugged. "Why not."

Bull grinned. "Good. Marry, screw, kill—Corypheus…"

At this the group reacted, laughing and gasping.

"…Samson, and Cassandra."

The drinking companions erupted into excited shouts and comments of approval.

Varric maintained his amused mask. "Ooh, now there's a challenge. A powerful being with a hell of a temper, someone who refuses to take off their overcharged armor…and then there's Corypheus and Samson, too."

The table roared with laughter. Dorian found even himself smiling despite his better judgment.

"Okay, so it'd be pretty great to marry an almost-god, but he's not exactly a looker. And I bet you Samson's a real sweetheart under all that red lyrium…" Varric paused, drawing out the suspense. "Marry Corypheus, sleep with Samson, and kill Cassandra."

More laughter ensued. Through Varric wore a smug smile, Dorian was sure he could see pain in the dwarf's eyes.

"Marry Corypheus!" Bull roared. "Can you imagine?"

Varric grinned. "I'm just saying, ultimate power versus a lifetime with the Seeker? I'm going with the big guy. Not nearly as scary."

As the laughter and jokes continued, a cough at the door caused all heads to turn in that direction. Standing in the open doorway were the Inquisitor, Leliana, and Cassandra. The Inquisitor looked like she was ready to hit someone, Cassandra wore an expression of raw hurt, and even Leliana showed some disapproval in her mostly impassive features. Silence descended on the tavern.

"Inquisitor!" Cullen yelped, standing. The quick movement was too much for him after all the drinking he'd done, and so he had to steady himself with a hand on the back of his chair. "Is everything alright?"

"We were having a meeting when we noticed light was still on in the tavern," the Inquisitor said, her voice quiet and tight. "Given the late hour, we assumed someone had simply forgotten to extinguish a lantern, and so we came down to help. We did not realize there were…festivities still occurring."

Silence again. Those seated at the table glanced among each other sheepishly. Cullen fidgeted where he stood.

The Inquisitor cleared her throat. "I believe you are done with this game."

Immediately, everyone nodded or murmured their consent, and all began to quickly clean up from their evening. All except Varric, who remained in his chair, his eyes fixed on Cassandra's with a look of pure regret.

"Inquisitor," Blackwall tried, his voice slurring slightly. "We were just having a bit of fun. Didn't mean anything by it."

The Inquisitor nodded, once. "Yes, I'm sure you didn't. We will discuss this tomorrow, when you are all more…composed."

The room reordered, the first of the drinking companions started to head towards the door. The Inquisitor and Leliana stepped aside for them to pass, and with this movement Cassandra seemed to remember where she was. She immediately turned and ran into the night. Dorian glanced at Varric, who still stared after her in shock. He hurried to the dwarf and grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to make eye contract.

"Go after her, you idiot."

Varric blinked at him. "W…what?"

"Go!"

Finally Varric heard his words and leaped from his seat. He bounded after Cassandra, out the door and into the night. Dorian sighed. He had been trying to make things better, have a little fun. Certainly not this. He reset Varric's chair and started his walk of shame to the door where the women waited for him. He was the last one out.

"It's my fault," he said to them. "I suggested it, an old Tevinter game. It was mostly quite positive and complimentary, I assure you. Only at the end did it start to…"

"Yes," Leliana cut in. "We saw."

Dorian sighed. "Do not blame the others for my transgression."

The Inquisitor put a hand on his shoulder, and though her voice was still firm, her eyes betrayed her kindness. "Well talk about it tomorrow, Dorian. Go get some sleep."

Dorian nodded and turned to face the dark fortress. He trudged back to his room, unable to erase the pained image of Cassandra's face from his mind. When he entered his room and closed the door behind himself, he was too caught up in his own thoughts to even notice that his room's candles were already lit.

"I'm sorry," a deep voice said. "I screwed that up."

Dorian looked up into the face of a familiar one-eyed Quinari.


	7. In Which Cuddling is the Best

**Chapter 8**

Dorian looked up into the face of a familiar one-eyed Quinari. He sighed. "No, it was my mistake to suggest the game at all. It can turn cruel easily, and I shouldn't have taken the risk."

He crossed to his armchair and sank into it. Bull crouched in front of him, placing his large hands on Dorian's knees. "Hey, it's okay. It was fun until I ruined it."

Dorian stared down at Bull's hands, too tired and scared to look the man in the face. He wanted to argue, to insist that it was really his own fault, to ask him to leave because feelings were confusing and he already had enough to deal with tonight. Instead he found himself asking, "Why did you choose me?"

Bull moved a hand to Dorian's face, lightly cupping his cheek. "I like you."

"But you get along so well with Sera, and Cullen's so—"

"Hey," Bull said, putting pressure on his hand to force Dorian to look him in the eyes. "I like them, sure. But I _like_ you."

Dorian opened his mouth to respond, but realized he had no idea what to say. What did Bull's declaration mean? Obviously Bull thought of Dorian as more than a friend, but in that case…as what, exactly? He stared at Bull, and felt his breath hitch at what he saw on the scarred face—hope, the same tentative kind he felt himself.

He leaned forward and their lips met in a soft kiss. It never ceased to amaze Dorian, given the Quinari's huge size and strength, how gentle he could be. They had shared all kinds of kisses before—passionate, angry, sleepy—but this one was different. There was a tenderness in this one, a fear of breaking something precious.

Their lips parted, the men stayed close, their foreheads touching. Bull's breath felt warm on Dorian's lips.

"I like you too," Dorian whispered.

Bull chuckled. "I thought I was just a crass, bloodthirsty Quinari."

"You are. And I like you."

They kissed again, just as sweet as the first. When they broke apart, Bull stood and began to remove his belt.

"Oh…I'm sorry, Bull, but I'd rather not…not tonight. It's not that I don't want to, it's just…frankly, I'm exhausted."

He looked up at Bull in fear, certain he would be met with a disappointed frown. Instead there was a smirk.

"I'm tired too," Bull said. "I thought I could just sleep here." A thought dawned on him, and panic bloomed on his face. "If…that's alright, of course. I wouldn't want to—"

"It's more than alright."

Bull's face relaxed. "Oh. Good."

They both took off their clothing, and Dorian pulled on the silky oversized shirt he always wore to bed when he was alone. He waited for Bull to mock the garment, but the man merely pulled Dorian's blankets over himself and smiled. Dorian slipped into the bed as well and found a body immediately pressed up behind him, two huge arms wrapping him in an embrace. He smiled. He had never slept with anyone before without, well, _sleeping with_ them first. It was comfortable and warm.

He didn't know what this was, this thing between them. It was nothing like the passionate, dramatic young love he'd shared with other closeted men in Tevinter. It was certainly more than a friendship with benefits; he had had those, and they didn't include nights of only cuddling. Besides, the way he felt about Bull, the way his body responded to that kind smile…it was unlike anything he had felt before, far different from the mere brotherly love he had shared with Felix. But was it love, the kind Varric wrote stories about? Hell if he knew. The Quinari still filled him with a rage so easily, and they weren't exactly compatible, disagreeing on nearly every topic.

He didn't know what this was. But right now, as he began his nightly journey into most pleasant parts of the Fade, he didn't care.


	8. In Which Varric Apologizes

"Cassandra," Varric said, louder this time.

No answer. She stayed still on the pallet, facing the wall.

"Cassandra, I know you can hear me."

"I am asleep," a muffled voice finally responded.

"Please, just give me a chance to apologize."

"No. I do not want to see you."

Varric sighed. He knew he was very much the one in the wrong here, but that didn't make Cassandra's iron will any less frustrating. "Okay, so you don't have to see me. You can keep your head buried in your blanket. This is what you get, though, for not having a door like a normal person."

Her response was a grunt.

He tried to think of how to start. Words normally came so easily to him, but looking at her curled-up form, remembering the stifled sobs he had heard as he ascended the stairs to her room, his voice stayed silent. He had to say _something_.

"I lied."

"Oh, really?" Cassandra snapped, still under her blankets. "You do not really wish to marry Corypheus? I am so surprised."

"No, I mean…okay, yes, that one was a joke, of course." He pictured her crestfallen face in the doorway. "And a bad one, at that. But I'm talking about…how much did you hear?"

"Plenty. I thought the first round was enough, but no, you were graced with a second decision. Lucky me."

Varric froze in the middle of pacing her room. "So you heard the Bianca and Hawke thing."

"Yes. What is the point of this? Please go away."

"Cassandra, I was lying that time, too."

Her head finally appeared above the covers. "So you would sleep with Hawke and marry Bianca? Fine. I do not care. Go away."

Varric groaned, and when he spoke next, his voice was louder than he had intended. "Andraste's ass, Seeker, you can be dense sometimes. I lied about _you_."

She stared at him. "What?"

"I don't love the idea of killing Hawke or Bianca, but in that stupid game you've got to choose someone to off, and I'm saying that when I chose you I lied. It wouldn't be you."

"But…then why did you…" The look of pain returned to her face. "You said I was worse than two…_monsters_."

Varric sighed and sought out her desk chair, turning it to face her before sinking into the hard wood. "Yeah, I did, and that's because I'm an ass. I was protecting my stupid pride. I didn't want everyone knowing how I feel about you and teasing me about it, because I honestly don't _know_ how I feel about you. So I lied the first time, and then Bull kept prodding me, so I lied again because when I don't know what else to say, I make people laugh. It's my thing."

"But this laughing, it was at my expense. They will think I am horrible, if they did not believe that already."

"You're not horrible, and they know that. All they're going to think is that I hate you, which is what they already thought."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "Oh, well if all they believe is that the man who they all like and whose opinion they trust hates me, then I'm sure it is fine."

Varric ran a hand from his forehead back through his hair. "I'm sorry. I screwed up. Wouldn't be the first time, and definitely won't be the last. I'll make sure they know I don't actually hate you." He smirked, and added, "If you want, I can even start slipping into conversations tales of your heroic adventures and odes to your goodness."

She didn't return the smile. She was angry still, that much was clear, but there was also something else there, the same look she got when piecing together plans at the war table. "You do not hate me."

It was a statement, but a tentative one, said as if she fully expected to be proven wrong. Varric's chest tightened at the realization that she had already assumed he would say no. Worse still, she did not seem upset by this possibility, as if hating her was the reasonable thing to do.

He shook his head. "Of course I don't hate you. I told you that last night."

"Yes, but after tonight…"

Varric groaned. "Ignore the bullshit I spouted tonight. I already told you, I was lying."

Since she had peeked her head out from her blanket, Cassandra had kept her brown eyes fixed on him, even when he looked away. But now it was she who dropped her gaze.

"Then…how _do _you feel about me?"

He should've been expecting this; he'd managed to perfectly set himself up for the question. And yet it still made his throat tighten and his heart race. Stupid body.

When had he first realized he didn't hate her? Early, that much was clear. He couldn't respect and hate someone at the same time, and he'd begun respecting her as soon as she'd taken action to close the rift. When had that respect changed into something more? The answer to this was less obvious. He tried to rationally think of an answer, remembering his interactions with Cassandra like he imagined scenes for a book. Was it when she'd told him about that mage guy of hers, even after he'd refused to talk about Bianca? When he'd learned she loved the crappiest of his writing? The first time she'd made him laugh?

He couldn't decide on one particular moment. It had been a gradual thing, evolving over the past months, and all the while his brain hadn't suspected a thing. Stupid brain. Regardless of the when, though, more important was the what. Exactly how _did_ he feel about the Seeker? Cassandra. He'd known as soon as Dorian had given him the list of three women which one would definitely not be killed, known it instinctually. But why? What role would he give her instead?

"Varric," Cassandra said, quietly, as she raised her eyes to meet his.

"I don't know." It was the truth.

Cassandra looked simultaneously relieved and disappointed. He hadn't thought such an expression possible. "Ah," was all she said.

"Do you…how do you feel about me?"

It was a cowardly move, and he knew it. Her typical glare was instantly back.

"That is not fair."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry."

They stared at each other without speaking. The longer the silence lasted, the more oppressive it became, until Varric couldn't stand the damn _stillness_ any longer. He stood and walked to the window at the far end of the wall, pretending to look out it. He heard rustling from the corner as Cassandra moved. He could just leave, walk back down the stairs and into the night. After all, the reason he'd come here was to apologize, and he'd done so. Their relationship could remain strictly professional from here out. But he didn't want that.

"I don't dislike you," he said at last. It was an awkward comment, and he wasn't even sure what it meant, but it was the only thing his mouth could manage.

He gave Cassandra a side-glance. She had moved to a sitting position, her back against the wall and her arms around her knees. Her eyebrows furrowed in response to his comment, and there was a long pause, during which he grew more embarrassed by the second.

Finally she spoke. "And I do not dislike you."


	9. In Which Feelings are the Worst

"And I do not dislike you."

Cassandra's voice was tentative, as if expecting a trick.

Varric turned just enough to look at her, surprised by both her answer and the fact that she'd given one at all. But what now? "I like talking to you…most of the time." Maker's breath, he sounded like a child.

As Cassandra's confusion increased, her guard started to go down. "I like talking to you as well." Her mouth twitched. "When you are not being an ass."

Varric couldn't help his smile. "So for no more than ten minutes each day, then."

Her mouth curved even more. "You are not _that_ intolerable. You are a good man."

He remembered the conversation they'd had just last night, though it already seemed like weeks ago. She had said he was a hero. It wasn't the first time he'd heard such a claim, but usually he brushed off the words as insanity, flattery, or a thoroughly biased opinion. He couldn't do that with the Seeker. She always told the truth. And he'd promised to try to believe her.

"I like your writing," Cassandra offered. He blinked at her, shocked to hear her voluntarily continuing their weird little…whatever this was.

"I like your taste in authors," he quipped. Cassandra rolled her eyes, and he immediately knew that wouldn't cut it. "I like that you're more than meets the eye. A practical, brave, and passionate warrior, sure, but also a romantic."

He instantly regretted saying the word. Though he'd meant it in the epic, idealistic sense, it could easily be misinterpreted. "Romantic" was so close to "romance," and romance was so…meaningful.

Cassandra seemed to have the same thought. Her cheeks turned pink, but she steered the conversation away from the dangerous topic. "I like fighting alongside you. You are more talented with a crossbow than any other warrior I've ever seen. I only wish I possessed your speed, stealth, and accuracy. "

Varic let out a laugh as he found himself crossing back to the desk and leaning against it. Closer to the Seeker, no longer on the complete other wise of the room from her, but still at a safe and respectable distance. "You wish you were like _me_ in battle? Have you even _seen_ yourself? You're a force of nature, Seeker. You easily cut down guys three times your size and block the toughest attacks. And you do it all with this…this _grace_. You make it look like it's easy."

Cassandra blushed again, though this time just barely. "I have been lucky to train under the best."

"Oh, don't give me that crap. I'm sure your teachers were great, but remember what I said about not blaming yourself for everything? That also means taking credit when you deserve it. When you surpass your teachers as the best, which, trust me, you've done—you have to admit that you're the reason you're so good."

She shrugged. "Perhaps."

"_Cassandra_…"

She smiled. "Alright, yes. I will admit I am somewhat responsible for a _small _part of my skill."

"You're impossible." Varric replied with a grin. And then, without thinking, "I love that."

Now her blush was a deep red, and Varric cringed at himself as he awaited her response. What he'd said was true, but he could've expressed it without using the l-word.

"I love your confidence," Cassandra blurted, speaking quickly as if to get it all out before someone stopped her, "how comfortable you are among all people, and how you can put anyone at ease. You make everyone feel better without even trying."

Now Varric's cheeks warmed. "Oh trust me, I try."

"Well then you are skilled enough to make it seem effortless."

"You're good with people, too."

She gave him a look.

He chuckled. "Okay, so making new friends isn't really your thing. But once you're there, once you someone actually gets to know you, you're exactly what they need. I've got a lot of friends, or at least people that would call themselves that, and I can count on one hand the ones that wouldn't just show up to have a good time at a tavern, but would stick around when times got tough. You're on that list."

"So we are friends?"

"Well, I think of you as a friend. Guess that doesn't mean you have to agree."

"No, you are right. You are my friend."

It felt good to hear her say that. Even if he yearned for something more, even if he had no idea what he felt, he knew that at the very least he wanted her for a friend. People like her didn't come along every day. Plus, he'd already had her as an enemy of sorts, and he much preferred it when her dagger was pointed at a different throat.

"I am glad to call you such," Cassandra added. "I am not like you. I do not have many friends."

It was true. She wasn't exactly first on the list of the Inquisition's Most Popular. "Well, you're not the easiest to get to know, Seeker. You're a little…" She shot him a glare, and he swallowed back the adjectives he'd been considering—mean, cold, self-righteous, condescending. "Prickly."

Her glare disappeared. "Yes. I do not mean to be, but when there is so much work to do that there is not time for—"

"It doesn't matter if there's time. When the world's ending, you try to save it, sure, but that doesn't mean you stop enjoying what's still here. Friends, family, good beer…"

"Good books," she offered.

Varric smirked. "I think 'good' might be a bit of an exaggeration."

Cassandra returned the smile, and for a moment they just stayed there, enjoying each other's company. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and Varric hoped it wouldn't be the last. It was another thing he loved about the Seeker, that she was comfortable with silence. Being around her was a nice break from all the talking and storytelling he found so necessary among others.

Suddenly her smile faded and she rested her head on her knees, looking away from him. "I understand what you are saying. One need not sacrifice a fulfilled life for duty. But this can be hard to remember when there is so much to do, so many people to help, and…it is easier, in a way, to devote one's entire self to one's cause, to think and feel and do only work."

"Easier?"

"I know, it is stupid—"

"Let me be the judge of that."

Her eyes met his once more. Fear was in them, but also trust. "When one fills one's self with only this," she explained, "with nothing but duty and devotion, there is no room left for…for other things. For pain."

He saw the deaths in her eyes: her parents, Anthony, Justinia, the mage. She'd opened herself up to them, let them fill her with happiness and joy and hope, only to have it all twisted into despair. Again, and again, and again. No wonder she'd closed herself off from everything, and everyone, except her mission. Varric knew the feeling well. It was worse than normal hurt, when pain appeared from nothingness. This was pure, life-saving water turning brackish and deadly. You didn't just gain some hurt; you lost what was good. Like with Bartrand. And Anders. And Stroud.

He found himself crossing to her, his legs acting before his brain had time to stop them. When he reached her bed pallet, he yanked off his muddy boots.

Cassandra's face displayed a rare emotion: fear. "What are you—?"

In response, Varric only walked across the pallet to sit down next to her, his back also against the wall. Their shoulders and knees were only inches apart, but he was careful to be sure they didn't touch. He wasn't sure why that was important.

"What you're saying…it's not stupid, Cassandra. It makes perfect sense."

She continued to look at the place by the desk where he had just been standing. "It does?"

"Yeah. When you open yourself up to good things, to fun and connections and all that, you risk those things turning sour. And that hurts a hell of a lot more than if they'd just started out bad."

She nodded.

"So, closing yourself off? I get it. That's one solution, and in a lot of ways it's a damn good one, because you never have to get hurt again, or at least not so painfully. I did the same for a while. I focused only on my job, collecting and selling secrets for the family business. And I was fine."

Before he could talk himself out of it, he moved his hand, placing it lightly on top of the one she rested on her knee. She started at the touch, and he almost pulled his hand away, but before he could she'd moved her other hand on top of his. And she was looking at him now, their faces close enough that he could see every scar and wrinkle on her skin. His heart raced and his stomach twisted and flipped with anxiety. He wanted to make a quip and run away, to never come into this room—and certainly not onto this bed pallet—again. But he had something to tell her, something it was important for her to hear.

"You know what, though?" he continued. "I might've been fine, but I wasn't happy. I was missing out on all the best parts of life. Friends, passions, laughter, relief, love…"

He paused—Maker, why did he pause _there_?—and noticed her eyes widen slightly. He pushed on. "So yeah, keeping yourself open to that stuff, giving time and energy to something other than just work, it can lead to heartache and grieving and all that other crap. But it's worth it, because it's what makes life worth living."

He meant what he said, even if it came out cheesier than he'd intended. It was important that she know. She deserved so much more than what life had given her. She deserved a stupid fairy-tale ending, the kind he could never bring himself to write.

He tried to read her reaction. Had he gone too far, giving her advice on her life awhen his own was so screwed up? Was she angry? Amused? What he'd said was pretty damn sappy, even for a romantic.

But no. Her face, usually so expressive and easy to read, was nearly blank. There was a bit of fear there still, and his hand could feel her racing pulse—or was this his? But mostly she seemed to have retreated into herself, her eyes blankly staring at his cheek as if not really noticing it. He could squeeze her hand, say something nice, and leave. They would still be friends. What did it matter to him if she took his advice? But it did matter, and he knew it did.

After what seemed like hours, her eyes flicked back to life, meeting his own. "You're right. I have been denying myself…the things I…want."

He felt his eyes widen. Did she…she couldn't mean…did her eyes just glance at his mouth? No, it wasn't possible. And yet they were here, alone, only inches apart, and when would this chance come again? Hadn't he just been rambling on about taking risks for the good things?

He stopped his racing thoughts with a single decision, and he smiled.


	10. In Which KISSING

Cassandra's eyebrows furrowed in response to his smile. "What?"

"I'm going to do something. And before I do it, I just want you to remember that you _don't_ hate me."

The eyebrows shot even higher, but he barely noticed. He was going through with this no matter what, Maker preserve him. He still didn't know what he felt, and he sure as hell didn't know what _she_ felt, but every muscle in his body knew exactly what he wanted

He slipped his right hand from out of hers and used both it and his left to gently cup her face. Her skin was smooth and warm, and this knowledge only encouraged him further. He pulled her towards him as he leaned in, not closing his eyes until he was certain their mouths would meet. And then it was happening, he was kissing Cassandra, and even while his brain bemoaned the undeniable fact that he would get bruised and beaten for this rash action, his body rejoiced in the feeling of his hands on her cheeks and his lips on her lips.

Her lips didn't move, which didn't surprised him, and he was just about to pull back and let her ranting begin when all of a sudden her mouth opened slightly and she leaned in to him, causing him to instinctually part his own lips and push back. And then they were kissing, really kissing, their mouths moving and heads tilting and tongues meeting. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to squeeze her tight, but they were still both sitting against the wall, knees up and necks craned towards each other. They would have to break apart to get in more comfortable positions, but he feared what would happen when they stopped, when Cassandra had a second to think about what she was doing.

Sure enough, though, she started to pull away, and he of course let her, dropping his hands from her face and leaning back against the wall. He opened his eyes and looked at her. Maker's breath, she was beautiful, her face flushed and her lips still parted to take in air. Her eyes were wide with surprise.

"What…what was _that_?"

There it was, the sharp edge to her voice he knew so well. He smiled at her, trying to keep it friendly so she knew he wasn't mocking her. "It was a kiss, Seeker."

Cassandra closed her eyes for a moment, as if searching inside herself for the patience necessary to deal with him. "Yes, I know it was a kiss, but that does not answer my question. Why did you do that?"

Varric shrugged. "I wanted to."

"But you said you do not know how you feel about me."

"I don't."

"And yet you wanted to kiss me."

"Yeah."

She groaned and leaned her head against the wall, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I do not understand you!"

"Well, let me ask _you_ something. Why'd you kiss me back?"

He genuinely wanted to know, though he was already fairly certain what her answer would be. A defensive remark, an excuse about instincts taking over, or some babbling about how it was a terrible mistake.

She tensed, and her head slowly titled down until she was looking at him. "I…I wanted to."

Varric felt his eyebrows rise. That hadn't been on the list. He took in a deep breath; might as well try his luck. "And how do you feel about me?"

"I…do not know."

"So you understand my problem."

She nodded. Varric relaxed against the wall. This was awkward and tense and confusing, but still a far better outcome than he'd expected. They sat there a few minutes, listening to the wind pass through the creaks in the forge and watching her desk candle's resulting flicker.

Finally Cassandra cleared her throat. "I…find you attractive."

"Wh…what?"

Her eyes narrowed, though she refused to look at him. "I find you attractive. I do not understand why that is so odd."

"I…you…why…" Varric sighed. He hated being tongue-tied. "I'm a dwarf."

"Yes. Should that matter?"

He let out an awkward laugh as he remembered all the times woman had called him "cute" or bemoaned the fact that he wasn't taller. "It shouldn't, but…uh…for most people, it does."

Cassandra frowned. "Well then most people are idiots."

"I couldn't agree more."

She finally looked at him, and he was surprised by her expression, one of professionalism and intrigue. It was like a muted version of how she'd looked during his interrogation. "Do you find me attractive?"

Varric felt blood rush to his cheeks despite himself. "Maker, Cassandra, I don't…why in the name of Andraste are you asking?"

"I am attempting to ascertain our feelings towards each other. I dislike not being in control of my emotions, and I assume you do as well."

His mouth fell open slightly. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Of course."

Varric laughed then, both in reaction to the ridiculousness of the situation and at a loss of what else to do. He put his head in his hands and shook with mirth.

"What is so funny?"

He raised his head just enough to look at her. She was so utterly and completely confused. "_You_. I know you're a Seeker and everything, but you've got to understand: there are some mysteries you can't solve. Emotions and feelings aren't rational. Like how you feel guilty for every last damn thing that happens in Thedas, or how the Inquisitor can fight demons no problem but is terrified of spiders. There's no reason to it."

For a second she was quiet, thinking over his words. It was a start, at least; normally she didn't listen to him at all. At last she spoke. "You raise valid points, but I still believe we can shed more light on this if we discuss it. Are you willing to answer some questions?"

Varric grinned. She was the oddest and most stubborn woman in all of Thedas. "Sure, Seeker. Ask away."

"Are you attracted to me?"

Though it was a personal and awkward question, something about her tone and expression made it seem like she was merely asking for the time of day. "Definitely," he admitted.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"Oh come on, how is that surprising? You've got a body that looks like it was carved by some master sculptor, and cheekbones so sharp I'm pretty sure they're your back-up weapons."

She blushed. It seemed she wasn't _entirely _immune to the intimacy of her questions.

"I...am old…"

"We're nearly the same age."

"…and scarred…"

"Scars are sexy."

"…and mannish."

Varric groaned. "If you're mannish, then I'm a bear. You've got muscles and short hair, sure, but that only adds to your look. You're all woman. If you weren't, I wouldn't…"

He winched as he trailed off. He'd gone too far.

"Wouldn't what?"

Of course she wouldn't let him off easy. He shot her a sheepish smile. "Wouldn't get distracted watching you during battles."

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "You do not—"

"Oh I absolutely do. Ask any of our companions. They've all called me out on it at one time or another. Except Cole. But that kid's in his own little world, so—"

"I do as well."

"What?"

Cassandra's eyes darted away from his. "I…get distracted by you as well. During battle. And at camp. And…many other times."

Varric felt himself grinning. "Bullshit!"

Cassandra glared. "It is very annoying, actually, trying to concentrate on saving lives while your chest is displayed for all of Thedas—"

"You like the chest hair!"

"…yes."

"I knew it! No one dislikes the chest hair."

She let out a disgusted noise, made less effective by her bright pink cheeks.

"How long?" he asked.

"What?"

He smirked. "How long have you been attracted to me?"

She looked up towards the heavens. "Maker save me."

"Oh come on, Cassandra. For the purposes of your investigation. When did you first think, 'Maker's breath! That's the body of a _god_.'"

This time the disgusted noise was more genuine. "I have never thought such a thing."

"You know what I mean."

She sighed. "Since I first saw you, I suppose. You were a slimy liar and criminal, and I hated you, but I could not deny the fact that you were…" Another sigh. "Aesthetically pleasing."

Varric laughed with delight

Cassandra frowned. "Can we move on now, from this—"

"Same."

"What?"

"Same," he said again. "The second I saw you, I thought you were gorgeous. Terrifying, rude, and obnoxious, but gorgeous."

"But you don't even like…I asked Hawke, when she was with us, if, since you two are so close and she seems so very…flirtatious with everyone, if you two had ever considered pursuing a romance. And she said that she did not think of you like that, but that even if she did, you are not attracted to humans."

Varric smiled. "When I told Hawke that, I never had been attracted to one."

"But then why…" Cassandra's eyes widened. "Oh. I…see."

Sure, he had recognized that humans were attractive or unattractive, in a theoretical sense. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Isabela was sex on legs. But when Cassandra had walked into that interrogation room, as nervous and pissed as he'd been, he'd found himself noticing every last detail of her, from the scar on her cheek to the callouses of her hands. He'd given himself a half-assed excuse at the time, something about character ideas, but in retrospect he knew. His body reacted to the sight and feel of her like it did to Bianca. And that terrified him.

He glanced at her now, and noticed she had unfolded her legs, splaying them out in front of her. Damn those endless legs. He wasn't just attracted to any human, but rather one that was probably the tallest woman in all of Thedas.

"Well," Cassandra said, businesslike again. "Given this evidence, it seems possible that what we are feeling is merely lust."

"It's not just lust."

"How do you—"

"I've known lust. That's not all this is, at least not on my end."

He could tell she hadn't expected that. "I…see. How do you…if I may ask…what indicates that…"

He smiled. Of course the Seeker didn't know what lust felt like. She was too much of a romantic for that, and trained by too many rules. He saved her from her babbling. "It's basically wanting someone only for their body, and not caring about or even liking the other parts. You're only interested in them for sex."

He thought of the occasional liaisons he'd had with barmaids and other merchants, the ones Bianca had encouraged since she was getting it on with her husband regularly. It made it fair, she said, but it sure as hell didn't feel fair. She lived with the guy, she saw him every day, and she even admitted herself that she liked him. Varric tried not to wonder how much.

"No," Cassandra said, pulling him from his thoughts. "Based on your description, that term does not seem…appropriate."

Varric did his best to ignore the fact that his stomach started buzzing with excitement. "So what is appropriate, then?"

"I…do not know. Lust is not adequate, and love seems far too extreme. I do like you, but I also like many others, and I do not desire to kiss them."

He smiled at her succinct analysis. "My feelings exactly."

She let herself slide slightly down the wall so that she was slumping in a half-sitting, half-lying position. "It seems you were right. This remains a mystery that cannot be solved. I am sorry for bothering you with questions."

She stared off into space, looking frustrated and defeated. He knew she was blaming herself for this. For not being able to categorize her feelings, and for having them in the first place. Despite her best efforts, she had opened herself up to something more than her mission. He couldn't stand the idea that all she'd get for her risk was more pain.

Varric let out his legs and sank down so he was at her level. "I've got a theory."

Her look was skeptical.

"Hear me out on this. I hadn't thought about it until you started asking…" Not true, but there was no harm in making her feel her questions had mattered. "…but there's a term that might fit…whatever this is."

"And what is that?"

"Well it's a word we usually only use to describe the romantic feelings of kids, but it's basically liking someone as more than a friend and wanting to kiss them."

"Varric, if you say you _like_ like me, I will smack—"

"It's a crush."


	11. In Which there are Grown-Up Crushes

"Varric, is you say you _like _like me, I will smack—"

"It's a crush."

"Oh."

He could see Cassandra thinking about it, turning the word over in her mind and poking at it from all angles. As he waited for her judgment, he realized he was nervous, though he had no idea why. It was just a word. But it had meaning. It was a transitory feeling, one that could fade away, but more often lead to something stronger.

At last she smiled. "A crush. It is silly, but I believe it is appropriate." She turned to look at him, mirth in her eyes. "I believe I have a crush on you, Varric Tethras."

He smiled so hard it started to hurt. Hearing those words from the Seeker…well, they ridiculous, but he wasn't beaming just from amusement. He was happy. He hadn't felt this way—all light and giddy—since he was fifteen. It was stupid that minor feelings like this should make a difference, what with the end of the world coming any day now, but that didn't change the fact that, for him at least, they did. And it seemed they did to Cassandra as well.

"What an interesting coincidence," he started. "As it turns out, I have a crush on you also, Cassandra Allegra Portia Calosomething—"

She groaned, but her smile was the biggest he'd ever seen it. "_Varric_!"

"—Filament Dragoness Susan—"

"Now you are just making things up."

"—Pentaghast," he finished.

In her amusement, she had slid all the way down the wall and was now lying on the pallet, turned on her side to face him. He ate up the sight of her, everything from her braid coming loose to her surprisingly delicate toes. Only now did he pay attention to what she was wearing, a loose sleeveless shirt and even looser cloth pants. A practical sleeping wardrobe—he would expect no less—but also one that managed to show off every curve of her body. His head higher than her for once, he even had a view of the space between the scoop-neck of her shirt and two lovely…

"Enjoying the view?" Cassandra growled.

He instantly returned his gaze to her face, worried for a moment he had gone too far, but was relieved to see an amused smile.

"Very much, actually."

She rolled her eyes. "Come here."

Her hand grabbed his tunic, and the next thing he knew he was sliding downwards, his head lightly hitting the pallet.

"Ow," he said, putting on his best pained expression. "That hurt."

"It did not."

"You're like those boys in the town play yards that pull the pigtails of the girls they like."

Cassandra smirked and reached over him, aiming towards his tied-back hair. He grabbed her hands and forced them back to her sides, pinning them down to the pallet. In the process he moved over her, and so when the struggle was over he found that his legs were straddling her hips. He was surprised, certainly, but that was nothing compared to Cassandra, who seemed to be downright scared.

"Guess I'm the bully now," he quipped.

Her face softened at the joke, and he lowered himself briefly to give her a soft kiss. When he came back up, he was met with a smile that made his stomach leap. He was still half-convinced that she disliked him, that any second now she would push him off and yell about his lewd behavior. But she'd been telling the truth, as always. She did want this. Cassandra Penthaghast, Seeker of the Chantry, Right Hand of the Divine, and Nevarran royalty, had a crush on him.

"Do not smirk, dwarf. You have pinned me down because I have allowed you to. I could break free at any second."

He didn't doubt it.

"Well then, I'll enjoy this while it lasts."

He bent his arms, lowering himself permanently onto her body. He could feel the curve of her breasts against his chest, but did his best to focus instead on her beautiful face and lips. Cassandra initiated the kiss this time, easily ripping her arms free of his hold and wrapping them around his back, pulling him towards her. Their mouths were open from the start, meeting, warring, seeking—he cringed internally at the unintended pun—while their hands moved over each other, his grazing up and down her sides and hers circling around his back. He reached up to her head, loving the feeling of her spikey hair under his fingers, so enrapt with kissing every part of her face that he didn't notice when her hands left his back and pulled at his long hair.

"Ha!" Cassandra cried, triumphantly thrusting into the air the band that kept his hair tied back.

He laughed at the trick, cursing himself for letting her win. "Is that all you want me for? A hair tie? I'm hurt, Seeker."

"Shut up," Cassandra murmured, and instantly her mouth was on his again, ensuring her instruction would be followed.

He trailed kisses from her mouth to her neck, grinning against her skin at the gasp she let out. He was the one to gasp, though, when her hips started to rock against him. She bucked, and a moan escaped his lips. Instantly she was giggling.

"I'm sorry, I did not catch that," she managed, trying to suppress her laughter. "Were you trying to say something?"

Varric narrowed his eyes. "Oh, two can play at that game."

He lifted himself enough to slip a hand under her shirt, and immediately moved it to her breast. Dressed for sleep, she wasn't wearing a breast band, and so his finger immediately found her nipple, which he moved around in tight circles. To his delight, a moan instantly escaped Cassandra's lips.

"Damn…you," Cassandra gasped.

He gave her his wickedest grin and moved his hand back down, grapping the edge of her shirt and starting to pull it up. Cassandra's kisses immediately stopped. Varric froze and looked at her. She was still breathing hard, but now the fear was back in her eyes.

"Sorry, I thought…"

"No! I mean, yes, you are right, but…" She hid her face beneath her hands. "I would very much like this, but I just need to be sure that…you should know that I do not do this sort of this casually, not that there is anything wrong with doing so, but I just mean that…for me personally…I have only ever…with one other person, and…you know I am a romantic, I take this kind of thing seriously, and I do not wish to…I want to be sure that…" She trailed off, finally noticing Varric's grin. "You think I am stupid."

"No! That explanation, kind of, but you? Never."

He didn't think it was possible at this point, given what they'd just been doing, but she managed to blush.

"I am not good at talking about…this kind of thing."

"I've noticed."

"And I do not want to pressure you, but I just want to be sure that—"

"Cassandra," he said, and she finally closed her mouth and listened. "This is not a one-night-stand. That's a lust thing, remember? And I feel a hell of a lot more for you than that."

Her face relaxed slightly, but embarrassment was still there. "I did not mean to doubt you, I just do not know how…well, crushes are usually between children and youths, as you have said. So there are not really precedents for…more than kissing."

He leaned down and kissed her, unable to resist how adorable she looked when she was out of her depth. When he came back up, he smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

"I get why you're confused. This crush is particularly…adult. But that's the beauty of it. There's no rules or expectations already set up by others. We can make them up as we go along. So what do you want?"

She gulped. "I…want this to continue past tonight."

"Same."

"And I…I do not want you to sleep with anyone else without asking me first."

"Done."

"And…I want to do things that are not just this, as we have been in the past weeks. Walks, or conversations, or dinners, or…other things along those lines."

Varric scrunched up his face. "Well, I'm not so sure about that…"

He expression instantly changed to one of horror.

"Kidding! Kidding! I don't think I could do just sex even if I wanted to. A guy's got to get a break now and then."

She groaned and smacked him lightly on the shoulder, her smile back.

"Anything else you want, Seeker?"

She shook her head. "Not at the moment, but…my feelings may change."

Varric smirked, thinking of the night's stupid game. Less than a year ago he'd hated the Seeker. He hadn't wanted her dead, exactly, but he sure as hell wouldn't have mourned the loss of her. Now he didn't just want to sleep with her, but it looked like he was actually going to. In the future…who knew where this would head? The thought of marriage seemed ridiculous, but stranger things had happened.

He gave her a light kiss. "I'm counting on it."


End file.
